


The Colour of My True Love's Hair

by neverending_story



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6377887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverending_story/pseuds/neverending_story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes dreams and reality are entwined, like lovers in each other's arms.</p>
<p>A strange dream turned into a thought and since it wouldn't leave me be, I tried to write it all down into this little story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour of My True Love's Hair

**Author's Note:**

> I'm truly humbled by the talent around here, so I was a little hesitant whether to pluck up my courage and give this a try. This is my first fanfic attempt and since English isn't my first language, I apologize for all the mistakes and incoherency in advance.
> 
>  
> 
> Black is the color of my true love's hair  
> His face so soft and wondrous fair  
> The purest eyes  
> And the strongest hands  
> I love the ground on where he stands
> 
> Oh I love my lover  
> And well he knows  
> Yes, I love the ground on where he goes  
> And still I hope  
> That the time will come  
> When he and I will be as one  
> When he and I will be as one
> 
> Nina Simone

Mud everywhere. People everywhere. What is this strange place and how has she suddenly ended up here? She can't tell. She feels incredibly exhausted, as if she had been walking for days. Was she looking for something, for somebody? Of course, I must have, she thinks. Always looking. _Always working_. She quickly skims the crowd, searching for an answer to her own question. And there it is. And it scares the shit out of her.

Suddenly she feels something strange in her chest. Something between an incredible excitement and a terrifying fear. That. Can't. Possibly. Be. I saw him die right in front of me, she thinks. No, this can't be. Not here, not now. Or maybe, maybe miracles _do_ happen? He's right there, she sees him with her own eyes that have never betrayed her before. The crowd is moving but he's standing still. Nobody seems to care. Is he free after all? Like a bird in the wild? There is a strange aura around him. Spiritual, almost. He's changed, no question about that, strangely content, almost unrecognizable. Sometimes she can still hear those words that had once hurt her. _I want it to be over_. She feels nauseous and incredibly sad.

Does she want to run to him straight away? She doesn't. She thinks of Franny and how she maybe wants her to meet him; she hasn't fully realized how much they resemble each other until this very moment. But there is someone else on her mind, too. Someone, who...Oh no, it seems like he has spotted her. Shit. Shit. She tries to smile, feebly. It appears he's walking towards her now. Fuck. No, not yet, I'm not ready, you fool. Are you not listening? I'm not ready, go away! But at the same time she wants to embrace him, tell him she's sorry for everything that had happened, or didn't happen, as a matter of fact. But she can't move. Her legs are glued to the ground. She's a statue and he's a ghost. 

She closes her eyes and wishes he would vanish like a bad thought. And when she opens them again, he's still there, but so is someone else, standing at the right corner of this unbelievable scene. Pale and dark, almost like a shadow. He surely must have seen him too. The expression on his face sends an ache to her heart. He isn't resentful, he is sad. Strangely, as if she could hear him say what he's thinking. His words are ringing in her ears like a lament. _Your wishes came true. He returned to you. Your Odysseus came home, Penelope, so what the hell are you waiting for? Don't mind me_. She's looking from one man to the other, as if standing at a crossroads, a wanderer who had lost his sense of direction and gave up his will to keep on walking. Her eyes keep searching his, those eyes in which she had once caught a glimpse of the sky, and of herself too, a reflection of her own awe in his adoring gaze. And now, there he is, thin as ever, ghost-like, too, an image of a leaf trembling in a cold haze, and when he finally catches her stare, he quickly looks away, immediately shifting his focus to the ground below him. He must think I'm going to run to Brody, she thinks, and yes, she has thought about it for a tiny second. 

But that thought is gone already and right in this moment, as if someone has been pouring fire to her veins, like a wounded fox in the wilderness who would run through miles of snowy fields no matter what, she's suddenly feeling light and fearless, and maybe, maybe she really _is_ flying now, at least a few inches above the ground. It's a strange, unknown sensation, she doesn't even feel her legs moving, floating almost, running in slow motion. And so without thinking, without any embarrassment that everyone's looking, that everyone's judging, that Brody's eyes are now fully fixated on her, on _them_ , she flings her arms around the neck of this tall, dark-haired figure and kisses him fully on the mouth. And he kisses her back and his kisses taste sweet, and his breath is warm and she feels like she's going to melt into him, maybe that is her intention after all, to disappear in him, _with_ him. And her eyes are still closed and she feels an ache in her heart, again, she feels it all, all that has been unspoken between them, she feels the love she has for him, it's almost unbearable, she wants to laugh, she wants to cry. And when they part and he still holds her and her hands are still in his hair, now slowly sliding down his shoulders, she turns around to face Brody. 

Strangely, she actually wishes to see his face now, wants him to see how clear the choice that she's just made was. And maybe it wasn't a choice at all. But to her surprise, there's nothing malicious in the way he's looking at her. At _them_. Almost as if he's saying, _oh yeah I know. I'm not here to get you back. I'm glad you're happy_. And there's such a strange peace in his eyes that in this moment, just after these blissfull seconds that felt like a lifetime, so precious like the life of a butterfly, she almost thinks she feels something for him too. Maybe it's compassion. Maybe it's relief. But it surely _is_ something. Just a different kind of something. And then she looks back at Quinn, who's still looking at her, through her, like he always does, with intensity that overwhelms her whole being. She puts her head against his chest and sighs heavily. They're both smiling, both knowing that the other is doing the exact same thing, even without seeing it. And suddenly she knowns she's going to say it now. Those three precious, sacred words. And she does.

________

 

And then it all vanishes and she suddenly isn't there anymore, the world is spinning and turns into dark and she feels her own aching limbs spread on her bed, breathing heavily, breaking away from something that seemed like a nightmare at first, but turned into a love declaration in the end. Brody is gone and so is Quinn and that fierce woman that was her own self, so fragile in the firm embrace of her lover, that person is gone too. 

She remembers how they have both held each other with such tenderness, she still feels it now even though it has all already disappeared into thin air. And with that realization, she suddenly gets incredibly scared. What if it's really Brody after all, the one lying here beside her. What if these dreams she keeps having, all those kisses and all those feelings she has for Quinn, what if all that is just a proof that she's an unhappy suburban wife, living this pathetic, shallow existence, probably under a different name, never able to return to anything or anyone from her previous life. Or even worse, what if they are living in some shithole, completely sheltered from the world, hiding, barely surviving, hating each other so much that each and every night, she lets her already exhausted mind escape into these blissful moments, where Quinn holds her in his arms. The lover with a dark brown hair. 

And maybe that's it. She could never have been happy with Brody, she sees it now, it would have never worked, why would she even think it was possible for them, such a twisted fantasy. And she's living it now. And she's hating it. And no matter how far he is, how impossible it is, something about Quinn feels so real, she could swear she remembers the slow lovemaking that must have happened earlier this night, how she fell asleep curled into him, how incredibly good it felt. Or was it in a different lifetime? It's too real to be just a dream and yet..too good to be actually true? So is it her and Brody then? Finally them agaist the world like she has always wanted, and she already feels like she regrets it. 

New identites, a hollow existence somewhere in the middle of nowhere where nobody ever finds her. And so she keeps dreaming of Quinn, because maybe he's that last remaining straw she can still hold onto. The last connection to what is left of her old and perhaps true self. Otherwise, she would have drowned already. Maybe that's what dreams are for. To fill the need, to fill the hole, the void in her heart. The mere thought of him, here and now, hurts immensely. 

She opens her eyes, tentatively, it's still dark but a new day seems to be slowly being born again. She sees a hand under the pillow, very close to her face. She lifts her head a little to see the rest of the person sleeping beside her like a dead weight. Her eyes are now adjusted to the darkness, she'd be able to see things more clearly. The moonlight is helping her too, crawling through the window and making scary shadows. She feels like a shadow herself now, scared to death to find out the truth about her existence. She would have remained in this liminal space of dreaming and reality for ever if she could, but that eternal uncertainty would probably destroy her one way or the other; so she has to brace herself and just face the truth, no matter how grim it turns out to be. But not yet, just a few more seconds.

She closes her eyes again, replays the whole scene one last time, a strange theatre really. She pictures these two men, neither of them posing a question, just embodying a different possibility. They are so similar, she thinks. They are so different. They actually _are_. And she doesn't know why, she thinks of the most shallow difference she's able to muster right now, in this quick stream of consciousness - their hair. When she thinks of Brody, she sees their daughter; it's a constant and often painful reminder, whenever she sets her eyes on that tiny precious little head of hers, always spotting her immediately from afar. Or is she made up too? She can't make sense of it now. 

And then there's Quinn. The thought of his dark brown hair, often standing on all its ends, makes her smile. Maybe a colour ordinary to many, but not to her. She often has this inexplicable urge to run her fingers through it, well at least in those dreams she's having, just thinking of it now, this sensation feels almost tangible and not fanciful at all. All right, time to break the spell. She takes a deep breath. Everything begins and ends with a hair colour. It would be hilariously laughable if it wasn't so terrifying. She opens her eyes again, still a few hours left, but it's almost a full morning light outside already. Time to go back to reality. As much as she wishes it wasn't true, she's almost certain now. It _is_ him.

He's here and he's alive. Fuck. Is it cruel that she wishes he wasn't? Maybe it is. And maybe this is the punishment for her cruelty. But then, all of a sudden, she sees it. Right there, spread on the pillow beside her. _Dark brown_. Little longer than usual, messy the way she loves it. She wants to scream but that would most certainly wake Franny up. _Franny_. My sweet girl, how could I doubt your existence. She should probably feel ashamed by this, but she can't think straight right now. She laughs, almost audibly, and wants to keep laughing and laughing but burries her face in her own pillow instead. I must ask Maggie to adjust my meds because the stuff they do to me...she chuckles again, silently this time. 

She rolls over to the man next to her, the famous hair gently brushing against her ear for a brief second, a sensation that immediately sends shivers down her spine. She wants him to hold her and never ever leave this bedroom, she wants to feel safe, like a little girl who's afraid of dark. She slowly places her hand on his shoulder and whispers, "Quinn", the mere sound of his name coming from her mouth floods her with the warmest feeling. He stirs a little, turns around and mutters, "Is it morning yet..?" And she keeps staring at him like he's the eighth wonder of the world before whispering, "Uhm, no...just...wanted to make sure you're here..". Just wanted to make sure you're _real_ , actually. Still half asleep, after couple of incoherent bits and pieces, he finally says, in a sleepy voice, "Jesus, Carrie...where would I go...go to sleep..." 

Right now, this voice, slightly annoyed because she's just awakened him from the deep sleep, is the most beautiful sound on earth to her. She curls up to him and he automatically puts his arm around her and drifts back to unconsciousness. And she smiles and smiles to the point her cheeks hurt and thinks it would be better to stay awake till morning this time. Then, as she's listening to his steady breathing, as if lying beside the ocean, waves moving back and forward, so peaceful and calming, she suddenly feels the urge to tell him she loves him, for the second time this night. And she will. She will tell him soon. For now, she'll just hold onto him and relish the dream she's living.


End file.
